


Because You're Mine, I Walk The Line

by NotAnAngel97



Series: In Any Place in Time, You Are Mine [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Art Dealer!Napoleon, Basically Porn, Fluff and Smut, Humour, I hope?, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild D/s, PWP, Spanking, U.N.C.L.E.!Illya, fuck it, i'm hilarious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7996249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAnAngel97/pseuds/NotAnAngel97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Napoleon decides to act the brat, Illya needs to take him in hand (and over his knee)</p><p>or</p><p>The 'Don't Make Me Put You Over My Knee' Affair</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because You're Mine, I Walk The Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaijusizefeels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijusizefeels/gifts).



> Little bit of light-hearted smut to break the tension of the last fic. Special guest appearance in this fic from Clark, our adorable little friend and quickly becoming my fav.
> 
> Title inspired by 'I Walk The Line' by (You guessed it) Halsey
> 
> Shout out to my cheerleader kaijusizefeels who helped inspire this fic, and to my beta Roostertease_it.
> 
> As ever, don't own sigh :( (Yet)

Lips mouthed their way down Illya’s neck, making him moan slightly. Napoleon’s elbows came to rest on his shoulders, his hands running up and down his under his off-white wife-beater. His fingers clenched tightly around the sheets of paper he was holding, crumpling them beyond repair. His knuckles were almost white with tension.

‘Napoleon,’ He protested weakly. He could feel Napoleon’s mouth curl into a grin against his back.

‘Hmmm?’ Napoleon answered cheekily, licking a long stripe up Illya’s neck. Illya arched his spine in response, groaning. He batted Napoleon’s head away.

‘Go to _bed_ , Napoleon.’ Illya insisted. Or tried to. It sounded a lot more like pleading to his ears. Napoleon gave a low chuckle, tweaking his nipple.

‘Only if you come with me.’ Teeth nibbled at the nape of his neck. With a groan, Illya tossed the files onto the coffee table, scattering the papers wildly. He dropped his head into his hands, signalling his defeat.

Illya was leaving on a mission tomorrow morning. Napoleon had a work function to attend, so Illya had decided to spend the night on mission prep, reading up on the target’s dossier. He had not accounted for a somewhat tipsy, and horny, Napoleon taking it upon himself to return early, with the sole desire of dragging Illya off to bed. That had been almost an hour ago. Illya _had_ hoped that stubbornly ignoring Napoleon would discourage him. What had he been thinking? Without lifting his head, he snorted.

‘You are truly a отродье (Brat). You know this?’ Napoleon nipped at his earlobe in response.

‘And if I am?’ He teased. Illya lifted his head, smirk spreading across his face. Catching Napoleon by surprise, he rose smoothly from his chair and grasped Napoleon’s wrists in a single hand. He yanked Napoleon around the armchair, wrapping his other arm around his back to trap him close. Illya studied him for a second. He was definitely rather not sober, but looked alert enough to give consent. Napoleon tugged experimentally at Illya’s grip. There was no give. Illya felt a jolt of pleasure as Napoleon’s gaze darkened with desire. He lowered his lips to Napoleon’s ear.

‘Don’t make me put you over my knee.’ He felt Napoleon shiver. He spared a glance at Napoleon’s face. His pupils were blown and his cheeks flushed. Catching Napoleon’s eye, he raised a single eyebrow in a silent question. Napoleon leant forward, his teeth capturing Illya’s bottom lip and giving it a nip. His lips curved into a full-blown smirk.

‘Maybe you should.’

Illya felt himself giving Napoleon an answering grin. He had been nervous of Napoleon’s response. They hadn’t played any games of this nature since Napoleon’s kidnapping. Before, they had dabbled in BDSM; Illya had always been a very dominant lover and Napoleon had simply been curious. But things changed after the incident with Owens. Napoleon had confessed that he felt anxious at surrendering complete control, only able to remember how powerless he had felt at that bastard’s mercy. But now, he appeared confident, sure of himself.

Illya caught his smirking mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue lapped up the taste of whiskey, eliciting a throaty moan from Napoleon. Capturing Napoleon’s tongue, he suckled on it tentatively. Napoleon’s hips bucked in response. Illya broke away, breathless. His hands released Napoleon and he settled himself back down on the plush armchair.

‘Strip for me, отродье.’ The two had renegotiated their rules after the incident with Owens, even though they hadn’t played together. Napoleon had asked Illya to avoid terms like slut or bitch. Having had no adverse reactions to being called a brat earlier, Illya decided to stick with that for the time being. He was rewarded with a throaty chuckle.

Napoleon felt the smirk on his face grow wider at Illya’s appreciative gaze. His hands played with his cornflower blue tie, unravelling the already loosened knot and slowly sliding it free from around his neck. With a flourish, he dropped it into Illya’s extended hand. He felt a low heat stir inside him as Illya’s long fingers toyed with the silk, curling it around his fist loosely.

Next, Napoleon’s hands wandered to his shirt. Button by button, he slowly revealed his chest. His nipples hardened as the cool air hit them. His eyes never left Illya’s face, watching as he drank in the performance in front of him. Napoleon peeled his shirt back over his shoulders and let it flutter to the ground. His hands drifted to his belt. With smooth, sure tugs, it slid free from his trousers. It joined his discarded dress shirt on the floor.

Basking in Illya’s hungry gaze, he reached for the waistband of his trousers. Working it over the swell of his ass, Napoleon let them pool around his bare feet. He stepped out of the crumpled pants and kicked them to the side. Glancing up at Illya, he took special delight in the stunned expression on his face. Instead of the boxers Illya had been expecting, Napoleon wore a pair of crimson lace panties, an impressive tent in the crotch area. He toyed with their waistband. Napoleon swore Illya licked his lips. He moved to ease them down.

‘Wait.’ Illya ordered, voice laden with lust. Napoleon quirked an eyebrow, but dropped his hands. Illya crooked his fingers, beckoning Napoleon closer. Napoleon was only too happy to oblige. When he was within range, Illya’s large hands came to grip his hips. His thumbs hooked Napoleon’s underwear and yanked them down in a single, smooth movement. Napoleon’s hard cock sprang free, its tip glistening with pre-cum. Napoleon obligingly stepped out of the panties and watched as Illya carelessly tossed them over the couch and into the shadows.

‘Turn around.’ Napoleon obeyed, slowly revolving, hands held out to the side as he displayed his toned body for Illya. He heard a soft curse in Russian behind him and grinned. A hand closed around his left wrist, drawing it behind his back with a firm, but gentle grip. His right wrist soon joined it. He felt the tell-tale slip of silk wrap loosely around them, before falling still. The pause was a question. Napoleon let himself nod slightly.

The loose loops instantly grew tighter. Illya had wound it firmly around his wrists, not so tight as to chafe, but enough to ensure Napoleon wasn’t slipping free. Napoleon felt himself grow weak at the feeling of silk trapping his wrists. Knowing he was bound by his own tie made him dizzy. He gave a half-hearted tug. There was no give; not that he had expected there to be. He let loose a low moan.

Then Illya’s hands were on his hips, spinning him around. One hand brushed Napoleon’s cock and he bucked. Illya clucked his tongue in disapproval.

‘Behave, Маленький щенок (Little pup).’ Illya remonstrated, flicking the tip of Napoleon’s cock. Napoleon bit back a whimper. Oh God, he was so _hard_! Only Illya had the power to do this, to reduce him to a mess with the barest of touches. Illya gripped Napoleon’s elbow and used it to guide him.

‘Colour?’ Illya checked. Napoleon licked his lips.

‘Green,’ he answered confidently.

One moment Napoleon was hovering over a seated Illya, the next he lay sprawled over Illya’s lap. His centre of gravity was slightly thrown off by his bound hands, pushing his ass up into the air in order to keep his feet on the floor. His throbbing cock was pressed uncomfortably against Illya’s clothed erection. He felt heady, being completely naked and bound while Illya was still dressed. Illya’s left hand was curled in Napoleon’s hair, petting him gently. Napoleon arched into his comforting touch. Illya’s other hand was rubbing gentle circles on Napoleon’s lower back. Napoleon growled.

‘Oh God, just _get on with it_ , Illya!’ Napoleon pleaded. Illya’s fingers tightened in his hair, yanking his head back.

‘So eager to be punished, отродье?’ Illya mocked. His hand drifted down to Napoleon’s ass. The skin quivered beneath his touch. Napoleon gave an absolutely filthy moan in response. Illya’s cock strained against the tight confines on his slacks, his pulse thundering. He found it hard to believe this absolutely divine creature was his and his alone. His fingers lightly danced along the tanned swell of Napoleon’s ass.

SMACK!

Napoleon’s whole body reacted, jerking up into Illya’s hand. Napoleon _mewled,_ a sound that went straight to Illya’s throbbing cock.

‘Count.’ Illya ordered, his voice hoarse to his own ears.

‘ _One_.’ Napoleon groaned, grinding down on Illya’s lap.

Hand cupped to emphasize the sharp sound of his hand cracking over Napoleon’s flesh, Illya settled into a rhythm; breath, hand, pulse, even the throb of his cock all in time. Napoleons breathy moans grew louder, driving Illya to distraction. Soon a darkening rose was staining Napoleon’s ass. Both cheeks flushed beautifully under Illya’s hand, filling him with an odd sense of pride.  

Napoleon began to hump Illya’s lap in time with the slaps. Illya growled. His next blow fell ruthlessly on the tender flesh at the lower curve of Napoleon’s cheek. Napoleon gave a delicious yelp and writhed on Illya’s lap. He spread his thighs wider, whimpering under the increasing pace and power of Illya’s hand.

‘I thought I told you to behave, Маленький щенок?’ CRACK. Illya took delight in the gorgeous red glow spreading across Napoleon’s ass. Napoleon rocked forward in his lap.

‘Twe- _twenty-seven_!’ Napoleon choked out. His skin glowed under the sheen of sweat as he writhed under Illya’s touch. His tremors went straight to Illya's cock, and he fought hard not to come in his pants. His next blow was strong enough to leave a red, blurry handprint behind. Napoleon gave a strangled wail and bucked hard.

Illya ran his hand along Napoleon's sweaty back and pinned him down. He hissed as he felt the trembling of Napoleon's muscles under his touch. Napoleon's ass, mottled and darkly tormented, was flexing and heaving under Illya's hand. Napoleon was keening, drawn out soft cries slowly rising in volume, kicking and jerking and rocking on Illya's lap. He was a flushed all over - except for the angry red of his shuddering ass.

‘You are doing so good, котенок,’ Illya soothed, bringing his hand down with another smack. ‘Just three more, Маленький котенок (Little kitten). Can you do that for me Napoleon? Can you be a Хороший котенок (Good kitten) for me?’ SMACK!

‘Tw-twen-twenty-,’ Napoleon was panting heavily. ‘Twenty- _eight_.’

Illya's shoulders were aching, his hand burning as harshly as Napoleon's ass. He brought his hand down twice more, in quick, successive cracks. Napoleon was trembling all over as he choked out the final count. With a sudden, raw sob, he came hard, spilling himself all over Illya’s lap. He collapsed helplessly with a moan.

Illya groaned at the sudden, utterly pliant weight on his lap. His hand came to rest on the burning flesh of Napoleon's ass, feeling how he still trembled and flexed under him. Illya’s other hand was still buried in Napoleon’s sweat mussed curls and he began to stroke them soothingly.

‘You were so good for me, Маленький щенок, so good.’ Illya began to murmur softly, a litany of pet names and praises that made the exhausted Napoleon beam gently with pride. Illya felt privileged to see him like this; sprawled across his lap, shaking, a light sheen of sweat coating his trembling skin and utterly blissful.

Napoleon took a few moments to compose himself. He felt completely sated, slumped across Illya’s lap while gentle hands petted him, stroked him. He slowly became aware of the hardness prodding him in the side. Letting a cheeky grin spread across his face, he slid off Illya’s lap and knelt by his feet. He rested his head on Illya’s clothed thigh. Illya let him, an amused smile dancing across his feet.

‘What is it now, Маленький отродье (Little Brat)?’ He asked, tone both affectionate and exasperated. Napoleon grinned an absolutely _wicked_ grin and licked his lips.

‘Well, I do believe you once told me my best asset was my smart mouth.’ Illya pretended to think, tapping his long fingers against his thigh

‘Did I? I seem to have forgotten.’

Napoleon smirked, nosing up along Illya’s thigh until his face was inches away from Illya’s clothed erection. He peered up at Illya from underneath his lashes.

‘Perhaps I should remind you.’

Illya’s hands moved to his waistband, slowly unbuttoning it. He eased the zipper down, shucking his pants over his ass. The pale grey cotton of his briefs were soaked through with pre-cum. His cock strained against the fabric. The briefs quickly joined the trousers, pushed down to his knees and letting Illya’s cock spring free.

Encouraged, Napoleon ducked forward, wrapping his lips around Illya’s cock. He began to lap at it, warm and wet. His tongue playfully flicked across the tip, making Illya buck up. Hands buried themselves in Napoleon’s lush hair, tugging at it impatiently. He heard Illya curse in Russian and smirked around the cock in his mouth. Napoleon’s lips stretched around the throbbing cock and he took it deep into his throat, suppressing his gag reflex. Setting a steady, fast pace, he bobbed his head up and down, swirling his tongue under the head with every upstroke.

Napoleon pulled out all the tricks, doing everything he knew Illya loved best. He felt encouraged by the breathless moans and gasps above him. Soon Illya was writhing furiously, pushing Napoleon’s head down further. Napoleon gagged a little, but let Illya change the pace as he chased his orgasm desperately. When the hand in his hair finally tightened, and he felt Illya stiffen, he peered up just in time to see Illya cast his head back, howling. He was rewarded by the sound of his name spilling from Illya’s lips as he came, hard and long, as Napoleon swallowed and suckled him through it attentively.

Licking the last drop of come from his red, swollen lips, Napoleon beamed up at Illya. Not a playful smirk, or a challenging grin but a relaxed, lazy smile. Illya’s hands released their punishing grip in his hair, one drifting down to trace along his jaw. His thumb ran possessively across Napoleon’s bottom lips.

‘Seems I was right about that mouth.’ Illya rumbled. Catching Napoleon by the nape of his neck, he began to guide him to his feet. Napoleon stumbled somewhat, with his arms bound as they were but complied, crawling up Illya’s lap to meet his lips in a lazy kiss. While Illya caught his breath, Napoleon peppered his jaw with kisses, suckling at the pale skin of his throat.

Illya glanced at his watch, checking the time. Stunned, he saw it was after one-thirty. Napoleon had a meeting tomorrow morning and Illya had an early start himself. Suddenly exhausted, he let his head flop back, eyes drifting shut. Napoleon chuckled against his throat.

‘Did I wear you out?’ He teased. Illya forced one eye open, glaring at him. He got a cheeky grin for his trouble.

‘Отродье.’ Illya bemoaned his pup’s endless source of energy. He hefted Napoleon up by his waist, wrapping one arm around the startled man’s thighs. Napoleon let out an indignant yelp. In one fluid movement, Illya was standing, Napoleon thrown over his shoulder. His bound hands flailed for a second as Illya balanced him.

‘Not exactly what I had in mind, you caveman.’ Napoleon remarked. Illya gave him a light swat across his heated red ass. Flicking off the overhead lights, he left the living room in darkness carrying his squirming captive. He kicked open their bedroom door, ignoring Napoleon’s complaint, and heaved Napoleon onto the king-size bed. He gave a strangled squeak as his red ass bounced off his bed. The curtains hadn’t been drawn, the city lights illuminating the bedroom with a faint glow. Napoleon’s ridiculous amount of throw pillows scattered to the ground as Napoleon struggled to sit up. Illya took the opportunity to kick off his trousers and underwear, while he yanked his wife-beater over his head.

He began to stalk up the bed, crawling the length of Napoleon’s body. Napoleon was growing hard again. His pup had an impressive refractory time. He nipped at the tanned expanse of flesh as he worked his way up, eliciting moans of pleasure as his mouth suckled the tender skin. Slowly reaching Napoleon’s swollen lips, he captured them in a hungry kiss. One hand cupped Napoleon’s jaw, controlling the kiss. The other reached for his bedside table, triumphantly grasping the bottle of lube.

Dexterous fingers made quick work flipping the cap off the tube. Releasing his grip on Napoleon’s jaw, he liberally coated his fingers. Illya’s hand wrapped around Napoleon’s stiff cock, relishing his breathy gasps as he threw his head back. His eyes drifted shut. No, that was wrong. Illya wanted to see Napoleon’s gorgeous blue eyes as he fell apart for him.

‘Keep your eyes open for me, котенок.’ Illya's breath felt hot against Napoleon's ear as he murmured the words, thumb brushing lightly over Napoleon's neck as his other hand continues to jack Napoleon’s hard cock. Napoleon's eyes screwed tighter closed.

‘I-Oh _God_ -.’ Napoleon’s body thrashed under Illya’s attention.

‘Eyes open.’ Words sharper now, harder, as a nail scraped down his cock. Napoleon forced his eyes open, gaze drawn to Illya. His cock throbbed in Illya's hand as he stared into Illya’s heated eyes. Illya's hand sped up, increasing his pace. Napoleon’s own hands strained against their bonds. He wanted nothing more than to touch Illya, run his hands across that sculpted perfection, feel the tension in his muscles as he brought Napoleon to the edge. But he couldn’t. And it was a delicious torment.

Napoleon thought the noise he heard was a whimper, thought it came from his own throat, but the yes and god and harder filling the room drowned everything out but Illya's voice, lips so close to Napoleon's ear that he felt the barest whisper of air every time Illya breathed. Then Illya’s lips were pressed to the sensitive skin below his ear.

‘ _Illya_!’

But Illya ignored him, ignored the plea in Napoleon's voice, and just sank back down Napoleon’s body. Illya’s eyes were again capturing Napoleon’s gaze, looking at up him. Never breaking eye contact, Illya ducked down, and Illya swallowed his cock, tongue and teeth as Napoleon came, shooting down Illya's throat before his lips even reached the base of Napoleon's cock.

Illya just smirked at him as he pulled back, Napoleon's softening cock slipping from between his lips. Napoleon was a mess, sprawled back across a mess of pillows and twisted sheets, gasping for breath. His eyes were closed again as he panted heavily.

‘Who’s worn out now, отродье?’ Illya’s voice was unbearably smug. Napoleon stifled a groan as he fought to open one eye. He must look more pathetic than he thought, Napoleon mused, as Illya’s face went from self-satisfied to fond. Too exhausted to do anything but lie limp, he let Illya roll him onto his side. A few quick, sure tugs, and the tie wrapped around his wrists was unravelling.

Napoleon felt fingers gently prod the slightly reddened skin of his wrists, lips tenderly pressed to the tender flesh. Illya pulled him up for a moment as he worked the duvet out from under Napoleon’s body and brought it back down to drape over the two of them. Napoleon adored how tender Illya was after they played like this. With a satisfied sigh, he snuggled back into Illya’s arms, pleased when they wrapped around him and held him close. The pair drifted off into a deep sleep.

 

Hours later, Illya was being roused from his peaceful slumber. The sun was peeking up from the horizon, painting the morning sky golden. Its weak rays streamed through the window, making Illya bury his head in the pillows. He let his hands drift down to Napoleon’s waist. His half-hard cock was pressed against Napoleon’s ass. Perhaps they had time for a quick fuck before they had to get up.

‘Illya?’ Napoleon asked. Illya hummed and pressed a kiss to the back of Napoleon’s neck.

‘Yes, щенок?’ Illya’s accent was thicker from exhaustion.

‘You didn’t happen to leave the bedroom door open last night, by any chance?’ Illya frowned. He didn’t see the relevance of such a question. He made to grasp Napoleon’s cock and was surprised when Napoleon’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Illya groaned in frustration and buried his face in Napoleon’s shoulder.

‘Why does it matter?’ Illya complained. Napoleon gave a low chuckle.

‘It matters, Illya, because we have company.’ Illya furrowed his forehead in confusion as his head shot up. Lying placidly at Napoleon’s other side was Clark. The puppy’s tail was wagging furiously as Napoleon’s other hand was stroking his belly. It was odd seeing the energetic pup behaving so calmly. Given the chance, Illya would have expected the pup to be leaping about the usually off-limits room, causing chaos. Then his eyes took in the state of the room.

The heavy crimson curtains lay crumpled in a heap on the beige carpet. Feathers from a torn pillow covered the floor like fallen snowflakes. The chair in the corner of the room was flipped over, which had in turn knocked over a potted plant, scattering dirt across the floor. A basket of laundry which had been sitting on the chair was overturned, the freshly washed clothes mingling with the soil. Filthy paw prints led from the dirt to create a chaotic pattern along the carpet. Sitting mangled in the centre of the room were Illya’s favourite pair of loafers. He flopped back onto the bed. Napoleon seemed fairly serene about the destruction of his bedroom.

‘I am surprised you are so calm about this.’ He mentioned, reaching over Napoleon to join him in petting Clark.

‘That’s because you are going to clean all of this mess up by yourself.’ Napoleon stated, utterly self-assured. Illya raised an eyebrow.

‘Oh, am I? And why would I do that?’ Illya asked.

‘Because this is your fault. Consider it _me_ punishing _you._ ’

Illya groaned, before rolling out of bed and giving Napoleon a swat across his ass. Napoleon jumped up, shooting Illya a half-hearted glare. Illya yawned and once again surveyed the utter chaos that was their bedroom.

‘Your punishment was decidedly more fun.’ He huffed.

**Author's Note:**

> So there we have it folks. I am addicted to fluff, I'm sorry (not sorry)
> 
> Stay tuned for more adventures.
> 
> Also, check out this awesome sketch that deffo influenced the end of this fic 
> 
> http://mykaijusizefeels.tumblr.com/post/150060024875/quick-sketch-inspired-by-notanangel97s-awesome


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